Runalong,mydearchild。Youdonotamuseme。YoucantakeGeraldwithyou,ifyouwill。IhavenothingtosaytoGeraldjustnow。
Heisinmygoodbooks。IsthereanythingIcandoforyou,Gerald?
Yourallowance,forinstance-atriflingincreaseoranadvance?
Iaminageneroushumour。“
“ThengrantmewhatIbeggedfortheotherday,“theboyansweredquickly。“LetmegotoSandhurst。Icouldentermynamenextweekfortheexaminations,andIcouldpassto-morrow。“
Mr。Fentolintappedthetablethoughtfullywithhisforefinger。
“Alittleungrateful,mydearboy,“hedeclared,“alittleungratefulthat,Ithink。Yourconfidenceinyourselfpleasesme,though。Youthinkyoucouldpassyourexaminations?“
“Ididasetofpaperslastweek,“theboyreplied。“OnthegivenpercentagesIcameouttwelfthorbetter。Mr。BrownassuredmethatIcouldgoinforthematanymoment。Hepromisedtowriteyouaboutitbeforeheleft。“
Mr。Fentolinnoddedgently。
“NowIcometothinkofit,IdidhavealetterfromMr。Brown,“
heremarked。“Ratheranimpertinenceforatutor,Ithoughtit。
Hedevotedthreepagestowardsimpressinguponmethenecessityofyouradoptingsomesortofacareer。“
“Hewrotebecausehethoughtitwashisduty,“theboysaiddoggedly。
“Soyouwanttobeasoldier,“Mr。Fentollncontinuedmusingly。
“Well,well,whynot?Ourpicturegalleriesarefullofthem。
TherehasbeenaFentolinineverygreatbattleforthelastfivehundredyears。Sailors,too-plentyofthem-andjustafewdiplomatists。Bravefellows!Notone,Ifancy,“headded,“likeme-notonecondemnedtopasstheirdaysinaperambulator。Youareafinefellow,Gerald-aregularFentolin。Gettingonforsixfeet,aren’tyou?
“Sixfeettwo,sir。“
“Averyfinefellow,“Mr。Fentolinrepeated。“Iamnotsosureaboutthearmy,Gerald。Yousee,therearesomepeoplewhosay,likeyourAmericanfriend,thatweareevennowalmostonthebrinkofwar。“
“Allthemorereasonformetohurry,“theboybegged。
Mr。Fentolinclosedhiseyes。
“Don’t!“heinsisted。“Haveyoueverstoppedtothinkwhatwarmeans-thewaryouspeakofsolightly?Thesuffering,themiseryofit!Allthepageantryandmusicandheroisminfront;andbehind,ablackenedworld,atrailofwrithingcorpses,aworldofweepingwomenforwhomthesunshallneverriseagain。Ugh!Anuglythingwar,Gerald。Iamnotsurethatyouarenotbetterathomehere。
Whynotpractisegolfalittlemoreassiduously?Iseefromthelocalpaperthatyouarestillplayingattwohandicap。Nowwithyourphysique,Ishouldhavethoughtyouwouldhavebeenascratchplayerlongbeforenow。“
“Iplaycricket,sir,“theboyremindedhim,alittleimpatiently,“and,afterall,thereareotherthingsintheworldbesidesgames。“
Mr。Fentolin’slongfingershotsuddenlyout。Hewasleaningalittlefromhischair。Hisexpressionofgentleimmobilityhadpassedaway。Hisfacewasstern,almoststony。
“Youhavespokenthetruth,Gerald,“hesaid。“Thereareotherthingsintheworldbesidesgames。Thereisthereal,thetragicalsideoflife,thedutiesonetakesup,theobligationsofhonour。
Youhavenotforgotten,youngman,theburdenyoucarry?“
Theboywaspaler,buthehaddrawnhimselftohisfullheight。
“Ihavenotforgotten,sir,“heansweredbitterly。“DoIshowanysignsofforgetting?Haven’tIdoneyourbiddingyearbyyear?
Aren’tIherenowtodoit?“
“Thendoit!“Mr。Fentolinretortedsharply。“WhenIamreadyforyoutoleavehere,youshallleave。Untilthen,youaremine。
Rememberthat。Ah!thisisDoctorSarsonwhocomes,Ibelieve。
Thatmustmeanthatitisfiveo’clock。Comein,Doctor。Iamnotengaged。Yousee,Iamalonewithmydearnieceandnephew。Wehavebeenhavingalittlepleasantconversation。“
DoctorSarsonbowedtoEsther,whoscarcelyglancedathim。Heremainedinthebackground,quietlywaiting。
“Averydelightfullittleconversation,“Mr。Fentolinconcluded。
“Ihavebeencongratulatingmynephew,Doctor,uponhiswisdominpreferringthequietcountrylifedownheretothewearisomeroutineofaprofession。Heescapestheembarrassingchoiceofacareerbypreferringtodevotehislifetomycomfort。Ishallnotforgetit。
Ishallnotbeungrateful。Imayhavemyfaults,butIamnotungratefulRunawaynow,bothofyou。Dearchildrenyouare,butonewearies,youknow,ofeverything。Iamgoingout。Yousee,thetwilightiscoming。Thetideischanging。Iamgoingdowntomeetthesea。“
Hislittlecarriagemovedtowardsthedoor。Thebrotherandsisterpassedout。EstherledGeraldintothegreatdining-room,andfromthere,throughtheopenwindows,outontotheterrace。ShegrippedhisshoulderandpointeddowntotheTower。
“Something,“shewhisperedinhisear,“isgoingtohappenthere。“
ThelittlestationatwhichHamelalightedwaslikeanoasisinthemiddleofaflatstretchofsandandmarsh。Itconsistedonlyofafewraisedplanksandarudeshelter-built,indeed,fortheconvenienceofSt。David’sHallalone,forthenearestvillagewastwomilesaway。Thestation-master,onhisreturnfromescortingtheyoungladytohercar,staredatthisotherpassengerinsomesurprise。
“Whichwaytothesea?“Hamelasked。
Themanpointedtothewhitegatesofthecrossing。
“Youcantakeanyofthosepathsyoulike,sir,“hesaid。“IfyouwanttogettoSalthouse,though,youshouldhavegotoutatthenextstation。“
“Thiswilldoforme,“Hamelrepliedcheerfully。
“Becarefulofthedikes,“thestation-masteradvisedhim。“Someofthemareprettydeep。“
Hamelnodded,andpassingthroughthewhitegates,madehiswaybyaraisedcattletracktowardsthesea。Oneithersideofhimflowedanarrowdikefilledwithsalt-water。Beyondstretchedtheflatmarshland,itsmossyturfleavenedwithcracksandcreeksofallwidths,filledalsowithsea-slimeandsea-water。Aslightgreymistresteduponthemoredistantpartsofthewildernesswhichhewascrossing,amistwhichseemedtobeblowninfromtheseainlittlepuffs,restingforatimeupontheearth,andthendriftingupandfadingawaylikesoapbubbles。
Morethanoncewherethedikeshadoverflownhewascompelledtochangehiscourse,buthearrivedatlastatthelittleridgeofpebbledbeachborderingthesea。Straightaheadofhimnowwasthatstrange-lookingbuildingtowardswhichhehadallthetimebeendirectinghisfootsteps。Asheapproachedit,hisforeheadslightlycontracted。Therewasampleconfirmationbeforehimofthetruthofhisfellow-passenger’swords。Theplace,lefttoitselfforsomanyyears,withoutanyattentionfromitsactualowner,wasneitherdesertednorinruins。Itssolidgreystonewallsweresea-stainedandatrifleworn,butthearchedwoodendoorsleadingintothelifeboatshelter,whichoccupiedonesideofthebuilding,hadbeennewlypainted,andinthefrontthewindowwashungwithacurtain,nowcloselydrawn,ofsomedarkredmaterial。Thelockfromthedoorhadbeenremovedaltogether,andinitsplacewastheapertureforaYalelatch-key。Thelastnoteofmodernitywassuppliedbythetelephonewireattachedtotheroofofthelifeboatshelter。Hewalkedallroundthebuilding,seekinginvainforsomeothermeansofingress。Thenhestoodforafewmomentsinfrontofthecurtainedwindow。Hewasamanofsomewhatdetermineddisposition,andhefoundhimselfvaguelyirritatedbythelibertieswhichhadbeentakenwithhisproperty。
Hehammeredgentlyupontheframeworkwithhisfist,andthewindowsopenedreadilyinwards,pushingbackthecurtainwiththem。
Hedrewhimselfupontothesill,and,squeezinghimselfthroughtheopening,landedonhisfeetandlookedaroundhim,alittlebreathless。
Hefoundhimselfinasimplyfurnishedman’ssitting-room。Aneaselwasstandingclosetothewindow。Therewerereamsofdrawingpaperandseveralunfinishedsketchesleaningagainstthewall。Therewasasmalloaktableinthemiddleoftheroom;againstthewallstoodanexquisitechiffonier,onwhichwererestingsomecut-glassdecantersandgoblets。TherewasaTurkeycarpetuponthefloorwhichmatchedthecurtains,buttohissurprisetherewasnotasinglechairofanysorttobeseen。Thewallshadbeendistemperedandwerehungwithoneortwoengravingswhich,althoughhewasnojudge,hewasquitesureweregood。Hewanderedintothebackroom,wherehefoundastove,atea-serviceuponadealtable,andseveralothercookingutensils,allspotlesslycleanandofthemostexpensivedescription。Thewallsherewereplainlywhitewashed,andthefloorwasofhardstone。Hethentriedthedoorontheleft,whichledintothelargerportionofthebuilding-theshedinwhichthelifeboathadoncebeenkept。Notonlywasthedoorlocked,buthesawatoncethatthelockwasmodern,andthedooritselfwassecuredwithheavyironclamps。Hereturnedtothesitting-room。